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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506488">How To Get Better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athetos/pseuds/Athetos'>Athetos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Better, Relapses, Self Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, canon character death mentioned, deeply personal and hopefully it can mean something to anyone who needs it, please read the authors note with trigger warnings, starts pre series and ends post series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athetos/pseuds/Athetos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, Glimmer wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment she made her decision.  And maybe that was the point - maybe there wasn’t a singular event to blame, but a lifetime of constant heartaches and miseries, circling her like vultures.  She had made up her mind before she even knew she had been given a choice - before she had even sneaked away with the kitchen knife in the dead of night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adora/Glimmer (She-Ra), Angella &amp; Glimmer (She-Ra), Bow &amp; Glimmer (She-Ra)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How To Get Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, I'm steadily plugging away at I Thought I Wanted This and a dozen other projects, but this was something I wrote solely for myself, and not for anyone else.  I wasn't originally going to share this, but if writing this was so therapeutic for me, maybe, others who need it can get something out of this, too.  </p><p>This piece contains MASSIVE TWS for graphic depictions of self harm, as well as suicidal ideation, mentions of character deaths, lots of swearing, and mentions of menstruation - Please read with caution.  This is not meant to glorify self-harm; it is meant to show the very real consequences of said acts, and the long road to recovery.  As I said, this is being shared in the hopes of providing comfort, hope, and relief to anyone who has struggled with this.  If you or a loved one are in danger of hurting yourself or another, please call your country’s suicide hotline.  You can find a list of suicide hotlines by country here - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines.</p><p>As a last bit, I want to mention that Marlene is a minor OC that Say_Anything created, who is a healer/doctor in the castle.  She's only briefly mentioned, but I wanted to clarify in case it caused confusion.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>I. Anger</b>
</p><p>Years later, Glimmer wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment she made her decision.  And maybe that was the point - maybe there wasn’t a singular event to blame, but a lifetime of constant heartaches and miseries, circling her like vultures.  She had made up her mind before she even knew she had been given a choice - before she had even sneaked away with the kitchen knife in the dead of night.  Something had snapped deep inside her, like a rubber band pulled too tight.  Her heart felt cracked and jagged, her ventricles sharpened to ruby points, the life that her parents had worked so hard to give her steadily dripping away to the bottom of the hollow cavern of her chest.   She could hear each and every drop echo dully, all the things she loved and cared about slowly leaking away.  </p><p>She wasn’t entirely sure <i>what</i> she was feeling, but she knew she was feeling a lot of it.  Too much, too often.  Trying to identify her emotions was a lot like disarming a bomb, untangling dozens of color-coded wires that followed a pattern that was beyond human understanding.  Sometimes, she’d yank on one a little too hard, and her stomach would flip upside down and wander about; other times, she’d snip one she was sure she didn’t need, and she’d find her knees wobble and her legs give out.  It was something she couldn’t name, something that English didn’t have a word for.  Maybe, if she knew German, or Japanese, or Norwegian, she’d find a term to describe that aching emptiness that she wore like a crown.  </p><p>She told Bow she was sad, but that didn’t even begin to cover it.  Saying she was ‘sad’ was like saying that the ocean was ‘big.’  She told Marlene she was angry, but that was far from the truth.  Anger was supposed to be red and hot, but what she felt was white and cold.  She told Aunt Casta she was tired, but that didn’t do it justice.  Tiredness goes away when you sleep, but this was endless and bone deep.  She told her mother she was sick, and that was the biggest lie of them all, because when you’re actually sick, you can get better.  </p><p>Glimmer wasn’t going to get better.</p><p>She liked having her own bathroom.  She liked the privacy it gave her, where she could impulsively chop her hair or spend hours sobbing in the bathtub without her mom interrupting her.  It didn’t really matter right now; her mom was asleep, just like everyone else in the castle, except for maybe Juliet, and she would be too busy guarding the gates to worry about the Princess’s latest bad decision.  Honestly, it almost seemed like <i>everyone</i> was too busy to worry about her.  Bow cared, but he didn’t get it, he <i>couldn’t</i> get it, he always thought the solution was as simple as ‘turning that frown upside down.’  Her mom <i>tried</i> to be understanding, but she had an entire kingdom to run, and she could only take so much ‘unneeded stress’ before giving up.  Yeah... that’s all Glimmer was.  Unneeded stress.  A burden.</p><p>The mirror was dirty.  She didn’t bother wiping it clean; it had been a long time since she had willingly looked herself in the eye.  In all the baby photos her mother had framed, she had huge, sparkling lilac eyes, wide with wonder and amazement at being alive.  Now, she knew all she’d be greeted by in her reflection were dull, tired purple, ringed with black bruises and weighed down by lack of sleep.  Such a far cry from the person she used to be - the person she was supposed to be.  </p><p>The knife felt oddly heavy in her hand.  She wasn’t sure what the right tool to use was, but it was sharp enough to slice open the pad of her finger, so she figured it was as good as any.  She gripped the handle so tightly her fingers turned white, almost as pale as the ivory sink.  Was she really doing this?  She didn’t want to.  She knew it was a bad idea.  She knew she was crossing a line that she could never return from.  But something sunless and dark compelled her, something that was fueled by self-loathing and hatred and despair.  She was a puppet, her arms moving against her better judgment, attached to strings hanging from a leaden storm cloud broiling with thunder.  She exposed the inside of her wrist, her blue-green veins standing out starkly in the too-bright bathroom light.  They almost seemed to <i>squirm</i> as she held the blade closer, like her blood knew what was coming, and wanted out.</p><p>The steel was cold.  At first, she didn’t feel any pain.  She wasn’t even sure if she had actually sliced open her skin.  Maybe she needed to apply more pressure?  She made the blade bite deeper, and it was only <i>then</i> that the pain hit her.  But it wasn’t what she expected, not at all.  It was distant, faraway, a dying echo from a rusty throat.  Like wincing when she saw someone on a commpad recording get hurt.  In a way, maybe she wasn’t actually hurting herself, but just the person everyone wanted her to be.  She was feeling empathetic pain for someone who did not exist.  The blood was different, too.  When she saw injured soldiers being rushed to the infirmary, their blood was thick and maroon, oozing from wounds like tar.  But hers was a watery crimson, thin rivulets streaming from her cut with astonishing speed.  A drop splattered on to the sink, turning the ivory to pink.</p><p>She met her eyes, on the other side of that smudged mirror, and saw something bubbling in them that she hadn’t seen in a long time.  Something profound and euphoric and violent.  The echo was almost nonexistent now, the sting from the blade as gentle as the way a mother would caress a newborn.  She admired her handiwork - it was a clean cut, horizontal and slightly angled, the bleeding already stopped.  It should have been a sick and shameful sight, but instead pride bloomed inside her chest, flowers sprouting from that torn and twisted mockery of a heart.  The white noise in her mind that followed her everywhere was blissfully silent, the dial turned to zero.  All those nameless, fucked up feelings were gone - the bomb had been successfully defused, the wires untangled.</p><p>She had found her salvation in a bathroom late at night.</p><p>
  <b>II. Bargaining</b>
</p><p>Glimmer quickly learned that her nocturnal endeavors were not a cure-all.  For about a week afterwards, she felt taller, more in control, a grim determination filling her skull.  She could smile a little easier, laugh a little harder, walk a little straighter.  The muted throb from her wrist faintly pulsed with every heartbeat, and it was oddly reassuring; it kept her grounded, anchored to the palace floor.  A calming numbness buzzed between her ears, so welcome after the inescapable roar of her mind’s malice.  </p><p>But it did not last forever, and soon that rot of self-disgust was back, taking up residence somewhere between her stomach and her throat.  It came back slowly, then all at once, the vultures once again circling her, waiting for the sun to bleach her bones.  They didn’t take kindly to their forced absence; they picked at her, with wicked beaks and crooked talons, trying to lay claim to her insides.  <i>You’re ours,</i> they whispered, in voices that sounded like gargled gravel.  <i>Don’t you ever forget that.</i></p><p>She again pilfered the kitchen knife, but this time, she didn’t return it.  She washed the red away, then put in a safe place, a box buried in her closet, so it was never far away.  </p><p>Little doses, a week at a time.  </p><p>Then a few days at a time.</p><p>Then every other night.</p><p>Then -</p><p>“Glimmer?”  </p><p>She jolted, fear lancing through the blissful fog that clouded her mind.  The knife, so carefully positioned just above the inside of her elbow, slipped sharply downwards, cutting deep, deeper than she had ever cut before.  She cried out in surprise and pain, blood immediately spilling from the gash, splattering against the sink and staining her pajama pants.  It hurt.  Oh, it <i>hurt.</i> And not in the good way.  This was vivid and violent.  It stung worse than the time she broke her nose, falling from a ledge onto cobblestone when her teleports gave out.  She felt dizzy.  The bathroom had shrunk, the walls closing in on her faster than the ground had rushed up to meet her.  She wasn’t sure if the light was flickering, or if her imagination was playing tricks on her, her vision growing fuzzy in time with the pounding in her wrist.  The air that was previously cool was now hot and stifling, making it hard to swallow.  </p><p>“Glim!”  It was Bow.  Of course it was Bow.  His voice cracked when he said her name.  “Are you okay?  Are you hurt?”</p><p>She scrambled to answer him, picking up fragmented words like puzzle pieces, trying to keep her voice steady despite the dryness of her mouth.  “I’m okay, Bow!”  She called out.  It was meant to be quiet, reassuring, if not a little irritable after her ritual being intruded on.  It did not come out that way.  It sounded like a broken howl, the simple sentence mangled almost beyond comprehension as it left her cracked lips.  </p><p>As expected, Bow didn’t buy it.  “Glimmer, what’s wrong?” he blurted, his panic ringing through the door.  “Can I come in?”  </p><p>“No!” She shouted, once again losing control of her volume.  She was scared.  She was sweating.  She was in pain.  This wasn’t supposed to be happening.  She was still bleeding.  Bile crawled up her throat as she watched the crimson run down her arm.</p><p>Bow tried to burst in, but thank the stars, she had remembered to lock the door.  He jiggled the knob forcefully, shaking the door in it’s frame.  “Please, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“N-nothing,” She mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.  She was shivering now, her teeth clattering in her mouth.  How was she shivering when it was so hot?  “I, uh... I-I just have my period.”  That was a safe answer, right?  Boys hated it when girls talked about their period.  He’d just cringe and say “Oh, my bad, I’m sorry, feel better!” and walk away.  Right?  Why was he even <i>here</i> in the fucking first place?  It must have been two or three in the morning.  </p><p>There was a second of silence.  Two.  Three.  Fo-</p><p>“I’m getting Queen Angella.”</p><p>”No!” Glimmer half-screamed, half-pleaded.  Her knees were shaking so badly, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could support herself.  “Please don’t get my mom, please Bow, I’m fine, I promise, <i>please</i> -”</p><p>“I’ll be right back, you need help, just, just don’t go anywhere!”  Bow’s footsteps were loud and hurried, even on the carpeted floor.  She could faintly hear his boots pounding against the tile as he dashed down the hallway, no doubt waking up half the castle staff in the dead of night.  </p><p>They couldn’t know.  They couldn’t see her like this.  Absolutely not.  There would be no coming back from this, ever.</p><p>Her mother’s room was only at the end of the hall; she would have to work fast.  She turned on the faucet, washing the rather considerable amount of blood down the drain, praying that her mom wouldn’t be able to smell the coppery stench.  Grabbing a cloth, she wiped down the counter, cleaning up what she hoped was every trace of her blood, then stuffed it in her pocket, alongside the knife, careful to keep the blade poking out and away from her thigh.  What else... the floor.  Her blood was on the floor.  She ripped the cloth back out of her pocket, nicking her palm on the knife in the process, and mopped up the remainder of her mistake.  Thankfully, the nick barely bled, so she carefully tucked the cloth away, and slid her blue gloves back on, the ones that were just long enough to cover her entire forearm.  It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to be good enough - she unlocked the door, teleported to her hanging bed, hid the knife and cloth under her pillow, and at last prepared to lie to her mother and best friend.</p><p>That lie was going to have to be a <i>very good one,</i> because to Glimmer’s surprise and disappointment, it was <i>not</i> nighttime, like she had assumed.  It was past dawn, Etheria’s many suns beginning their long trek through the sky.  Had she really been in the bathroom for hours?  That didn’t seem right.  None of this seemed right.  And - oh, stars, she was still bleeding.  What if she needed stitches?  How could she get stitches without anyone knowing?  Marlene would rat her out.  She let Glimmer keep many secrets from her mom, but not this one.  Even if she could convince her it was an accident, there were dozens of other cuts in various stages of healing on both her arms, criss-crossing over her veins, every stroke even and purposeful.  There was no way she could pass them off as anything other than self injury.  If she needed medical attention, she was fucked.  She’d have to let it heal on it’s own to form a nasty, mottled scar, forever reminding her of her stupid, stupid fucking mistake.  </p><p>Maybe this whole thing was a stupid fucking mistake.</p><p>How could she have been so... so -</p><p>Her door slammed open, Angella striding in with no pause in her step.  “Glimmer!”  She joked about how much she hated her mom’s accent, about how much she hated the way she pronounced her name ‘Glimmah.’  But what she hated most of all was the fear in her voice, fear that she had caused.  Maybe, this whole time she had been hurting more people than just herself.  Was that selfish?  Her eyes stung with tears.</p><p>Bow was right behind her, wringing his hands together nervously.  They didn’t notice her in her bed high above them; instead, they marched straight to her bathroom, and were shocked when they found the door open, the lights off, and Glimmer nowhere to be seen.</p><p>She took a deep breath.  “I’m up here, Mom,” she said.  Her voice was a little shaky, but nothing too noticeable.  She could get through this.  </p><p>Both turned to gaze up at her, meeting her eyes as she peered over the edge of the bed.  “Glimmer, what’s going on?”  Angella asked, concern and confusion warring on her face.  Her wings were slightly spread, fluttering with agitation.  “Bow said you were hurt.”</p><p>She licked her lips.  “I’m not, I’m fine, really.  I just had bad period cramps.”  There was no way they wouldn’t buy that excuse.  Her mom <i>knew</i> how bad her periods were.</p><p>Bow seemed somewhat convinced, scratching his neck in embarrassment.  Angella, however, remained wary.  “I thought you had your period last week.”</p><p>Fuck.  She did.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  “Uh, I lied,” she said awkwardly.  “I just wanted to get out of going to that meeting...”</p><p>Her mother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Come here.”</p><p>Another deep, deep breath.  She checked to make sure she wasn’t bleeding through her glove - she was clear, it must have finally stopped.  Maybe that meant the pain would end soon, too.  With a sigh, she teleported to the floor, standing a couple feet away from Bow and Angella.  She hoped she didn’t look too bad.  Her pajamas were disheveled, but then again, they always looked like that - she had a tendency to toss and turn in her sleep, much to the annoyance of Bow when they had sleepovers.  Her face was probably still a bit red, and her forehead felt hot, but maybe it would just help them believe that she was feeling sick.  “See?”  She spread her arms, and turned a slow circle, showing that there were no visible injuries or bruises.  “I’m totally fine.  Can I go back to bed? It's like, seven in the morning...”</p><p>“It’s actually <i>ten,</i> Glimmer,” Angella said with a frown.  “I had sent Bow to see that you’re awake.”  She watched her daughter intently, looking for any further signs of distress.  She wouldn’t find any.  Glimmer was confident of that, now.  She was gonna be home free, she was gonna - </p><p>Angella’s eyes widened in shock.  “Is that blood?!”</p><p>Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.  Her pajamas.  She should have changed, she forgot it got on her pants, maybe it wasn’t too much, maybe it was - oh, that was a lot of blood, more than she thought possible, and now the room was spinning again, she could taste copper, her arm was <i>throbbing,</i> the floor was rising to meet her, and -</p><p>Her mother caught her, slipping her arms around her back and thighs and lifting her into the air, like she was a child.  Shadowy tendrils ate at the corners of her vision, bile burning her throat.  She wanted to tell her mom to put her down, that she was okay, but she couldn’t speak.  Her voice was completely gone, leaving her as quickly as her blood had left her veins.  A single tear fell from her eye.  </p><p>“Bow, go grab Marlene, run!”  Angella usually gave commands with unwavering strength, but this one was unsteady and scared.  Glimmer was too lost to see if Bow followed her order, her pain burning too bright for her to focus on anything but the severed nerves in her arm.  “Glimmer, angel, what happened?  Who hurt you?”</p><p>
  <i>Me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I hurt me.</i>
</p><p>“Mom, I’m so sorry!”</p><p>She didn’t remember much after that.</p><p>---</p><p>She woke up in the infirmary.  Someone - presumably Marlene, or her mother - changed her clothes.  She was now in a clean white gown, with no bloodstains in sight.  The sheets were scratchy, but she didn’t have the energy to change position.  She blinked blurrily, trying to figure out what else was different, and realized her wrist felt tight.  Without looking, she knew that they had stitched her wound closed.  It still hurt, but it was more of a dull ache, a muted thumping.  Magic, or medicine, or some combination of the two, had taken away the worst of the pain.  She flexed her fingers, grunting at the weird feeling of her skin feeling patched together.</p><p>There was something else, too.  A muffled sound, as though it was dampened by layers of fabric.  It seemed to stutter, little hiccups here and there, rising and falling like the ebb of the sea.  She didn’t know what it was, or where it was coming from, but it made her heart ache.  Something about it was so raw, so anguished, that it choked her up, tears coming to her own eyes.  It was full of grief.  The type of grief that isn’t because of the loss of a loved one, but from the agony of watching a loved one suffer, knowing there’s no way to help them, that you cannot save them, that you cannot prevent the inevitable.  It was the grief she saw on Mermista’s face, when her mom was sick, slowly wasting away from a disease that the doctors and sorcerers couldn’t heal.  When everyone knew she was going to pass away, and all they could do was make her as comfortable as possible.</p><p>Who was dying?  Who was here, sick?  She tried to lift her head, to look around, but she was the only patient there.  All the other beds were empty.  And in the chairs, there was -</p><p>“Oh, angel, you’re awake!”  </p><p>It was her mother.  Her mother was crying.  </p><p>She was the one dying.  Not literally, but metaphorically, in mind and body and spirit.  Her mother, helpless before her, unable to protect her from her own self.  Glimmer had never seen her cry this hard, not since her father left, and never came back.</p><p>Then and there, she vowed, she’d never hurt herself again.</p><p>
  <b>III. Depression</b>
</p><p>She hurt herself again.</p><p>She tried not to.  She tried so hard not to.  It had been a year, a full year since her promise, and she had broken it.  She had broken it as badly as she had fucking broken everything else in her goddamn miserable life.</p><p>And her mother wasn’t even here to be disappointed in her.</p><p>Fuck Catra, fuck Hordak, fuck everyone, <i>fuck herself.</i></p><p>All she did was make mistake after mistake after mistake.  Why did anyone even bother putting up with her?  She wasn’t worth the effort.  She hurt people.  That was what she did.  She hurt people, and now she was hurting herself, for what?  As some kind of sick, demented punishment?  As if a few more scars on her wrists would bring her mother back, or make Adora love her again.  Idiot.  Stupid fucking idiot.  Why had she said that?  Why the <i>fuck</i> had she said that?  She didn’t even mean it.  She could <i>never</i> have meant it.  God, what a fucking mess she had made.  Adora was the best thing that had ever happened to her, that had ever happened to the <i>universe,</i> and now the blonde can’t even fucking look at her without wincing.  Why was she like this?  She didn’t even deserve to be alive.  It should have been <i>her</i> trapped in the fucking portal.  Nobody would even miss her.  Nobody would care at all.  </p><p>Oh, God, it fucking hurt.  It hurt so much worse than any of the previous times.  Her body fought her the entire way.  Her skin refused to part for the blade, staying stubbornly closed.  Why wasn’t she bleeding?  She applied more pressure, crying out in pain.  It was agony.  This shouldn’t even hurt.  Why did it fucking hurt, now?  When she needed it the most?  When she deserved it the most?  Usually, it was clean slices, parallel lines.  This was irregular, jagged.  She sawed against her wrist, back and forth, biting her lip to stop herself from yelping.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Why was she doing this?  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  This was torture, but she couldn’t stop.  Why was her own pain addicting?  What the fuck was wrong with her?</p><p>Finally, she dropped the knife into the sink.  She was bleeding everywhere.  She felt so sick.  She didn’t even bother cleaning up.  Just teleported to her bed - her empty, lonely bed - and cried.  She knew she’d wake up in the morning to bloodstained sheets and pillowcases and she probably needed medical attention but she wasn’t going to Marlene, not again, because she would have pity in her eyes, that pity that fucking everyone had when they looked at her since her mom passed away.  She didn’t want their pity, she didn’t <i>deserve</i> their pity.  Honestly, she should just fucking end it all.  Bring the knife to her throat, or raid a medicine cabinet, or fucking fall off the castle roof, her arms outspread like wings.  Then she could finally feel nothing, nothing at all.  </p><p>But she wouldn’t.  She couldn’t.  </p><p>So she’d just stab away at her veins until everything made sense.</p><p>
  <b>IV.  Acceptance</b>
</p><p>Three years.  </p><p>Three goddamn years of progress, literally down the drain.  Her blood looked so shiny against the pearly sink.  There wasn’t much of it - just a few drops, here and there.  But it was more than enough.  The wound was angry and red, and seemed to glare at her.  Judging her.  <i>Yeah, yeah, I know.  I fucked up again.</i>  It stood out brightly against her tan skin, against the other scars, some thin and others thick, all of them glittering under the bathroom light.  An entire tapestry of her trauma, plain for the world to see.  </p><p>She wanted to keep it a secret - a dirty, deadly secret - but she knew she couldn’t.  Her heart wouldn’t let her.  And it was that thought that made her realize that maybe, just maybe, all that progress wasn’t lost like she thought it was.</p><p>---</p><p>“Adora, I need to tell you something.”</p><p>Her girlfriend, who had been reading a book beside her in bed, hummed thoughtfully before marking her page with a scrap of paper.  She dropped the book to the floor with a gentle thump, then turned to Glimmer, smiling widely.  “What is it, Starlight?”</p><p>“I... I did something bad.”  She couldn’t meet her eyes.  She kept her gaze trained on her lap, where her hands fidgeted with the edge of her blanket.  </p><p>Adora’s tone changed instantly.  “What happened, honey?”  She shifted closer, their thighs touching, a hand reaching out to take her own, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Glimmer’s eyes burned.  She was crying, already, and she hadn’t even told her yet.  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she sniffled.  “I don’t know why I did it, nothing’s wrong, but I <i>did it.”</i></p><p>“Oh, Glim,” Adora tilted her chin to look her in the face, and Glimmer felt so guilty as she met those loving, concerned eyes.  “What happened baby?  Are you okay?”</p><p>She pulled Adora closer, burying her face in her chest, throwing her arms around her.  She weeped into her nightshirt while Adora stroked her hair, shushing her softly.  Her other hand rubbed sweet circles into her back, along her spine.  She kissed the top of her head, rocking them slowly back and forth.  “Shh, it’s okay sweetheart, I’m right here.  It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”</p><p>“I...” Glimmer broke off, her throat closing up.  “I hurt myself, Adora, I’m so sorry!”  </p><p>“Oh, love,” Adora whispered, lips brushing against her hair.  It sounded like the entire weight of the world was balanced in her voice.  “Is it bad?  Are you okay sweetie?”</p><p>Glimmer fisted Adora’s shirt, tugging at the fabric for comfort.  “It, It’s not bad, I’m okay, I just... I thought... it’s been <i>three years...</i> I, I - “</p><p>“Shh, breathe, baby,” Adora soothed, her hand still rubbing her back.  “Can you show me?”</p><p>Wordlessly, Glimmer pulled away, yanking down her sleeve to reveal the ugly mark.  Adora lightly brushed her fingers over it, making sure Glimmer didn’t feel any pain from her touch.  Carefully, she raised her wrist to mouth, tenderly kissing the cut, then trailed her lips farther down, planting feather-light kisses on each and every scar, reminding Glimmer that she was loved.  The queen sobbed, snuggling into her girlfriend, head spinning as she tried to process the sentiment behind her touch.  </p><p>“I-I don’t even know why I did it,” she gasped.  “I just...” She trailed off, unable to continue.  </p><p>“Sometimes,” Adora said quietly, “there’s no reason for relapses.  It... They - they stay with you.”  Tears were running down her own cheeks now.  “It can be years, and... it might not ever go away, not completely.  Like - like my nightmares.”  She chuckled wetly.  “Sometimes, I go months without one, and then...”</p><p>“You get them every night, with no rhyme or reason,” Glimmer finished.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.  This... This doesn’t mean you’re not healing, Glimmer.  I’m, I’m <i>so</i> proud of you, baby.  Look... Look how <i>far</i> you’ve come.  Three whole years.”</p><p>Glimmer hid her face in the crook of Adora’s neck, smiling sadly.  “Yeah... three whole years.  But now I have to start over from the beginning.”</p><p>Adora shook her head, her hair tickling Glimmer’s cheeks.  “No, not from the beginning.  You’re not starting over at all.  Do you remember what your therapist said?”</p><p>“Recovery isn’t linear,” she mumbled.</p><p>“Exactly.  This... This is still progress, baby.  And you told me.  You didn’t have to, but you did, and...” Adora was crying harder now.  “I’m just, I’m so, <i>so</i> proud of you, I love you so much, I - It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.  It’s okay.”</p><p>“I love you too,” Glimmer sobbed, wrapping herself around Adora as tightly as possible.  “I love you so much, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Adora said, kissing Glimmer on the lips.  “Nothing at all.  You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”</p><p>Yeah.</p><p>She was okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, here is a list of suicide hotlines by country - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines</p><p>Take care, and thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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